


Evening in Autumn

by genkisakka



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genkisakka/pseuds/genkisakka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goudai sent for Koumyou just in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening in Autumn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whymzycal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whymzycal/gifts).



> Written for the 2013 yuletide_smut Dreamwidth community exchange

Goudai scowled at the acolyte serving their tea. He was one of the younger monks, perhaps no more than 16, and clearly nervous at having been called to attend to not one, but two Sanzos. His breathing was shallow, and his hands shook as he set the tea tray on the table. The cups rattled against the teapot, the sound setting Goudai’s teeth on edge. As the boy reached a trembling hand toward the pot’s handle, Goudai had visions of hot tea dribbling everywhere but in the cups. He waved an impatient hand.

“You think I want you pouring tea all over my table?” he barked. “Out!”

The youth gave a deep, if hasty, bow and nearly tripped over his feet as he backed out of the room. Koumyou managed to stifle his laughter until the acolyte’s footsteps had faded down the corridor.

“You’ve turned into quite the tyrant, it seems,” he chuckled. “That poor boy looked like he was going to wet himself.”

“These youngsters are so soft,” Goudai grumbled. “He would’ve lasted about two minutes in our faction at Taisouji.”

“Spoken like a true old man,” Koumyou teased. He reached for the teapot, and Goudai swatted his hand away.

“Hands off, idiot. You’re my guest.” Goudai lifted the lid and sniffed the contents. The jasmine brew was fragrant, though it looked a bit on the weak side. He poured two cups and handed one to Koumyou.

“Thank you for your most generous hospitality,” Koumyou said with a nod and the hint of a smirk. Goudai couldn’t suppress an amused snort.

“You were always an ungrateful bastard,” he growled. He sipped the tea and made a face; it was somehow both weak and slightly bitter from having steeped too long. He set the cup down with more force than necessary.

“I’m supposed to choose a Sanzo from this lot, who can’t even make a decent pot of tea,” he said, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t aware tea-brewing was among the traits required of a Sanzo,” Koumyou said. He had finished his cup in two swallows and was reaching for the handle to pour another. Goudai barely managed to intercept him.

“You do love to break protocol,” he grumbled, filling Koumyou’s cup almost to the brim.

“We both know it isn’t in your nature to be a gracious host,” Koumyou replied cheerfully. “I was merely trying to spare you the effort.”

“How considerate of you,” Goudai retorted. His lips twitched in his effort to keep from returning Koumyou’s grin. “I suppose you’ll be expecting to be washed and fed while you’re here?”

Koumyou set his cup aside and stretched his neck from side to side. “A bath would be most welcome,” he said, lifting himself to one knee with a grunt. He gave Goudai a plaintive look. “I don’t suppose you have any warm sake as an accompaniment?”

“This isn’t an onsen,” Goudai huffed. “Go wash off your road-stink while there’s still hot water.”

“Won’t you be joining me?”

Goudai met Koumyou’s gaze in silence, surprised and gratified to see a familiar glint in his old friend’s eyes. But he knew that lustful gleam would quickly vanish when faced with the reality of Goudai’s illness-ravaged body, marked with bruises and sores and bones sharply outlined beneath sagging, sallow skin. Goudai shook his head, swallowing back the beginnings of a coughing spell.

“One of those useless idiots can show you the way,” he said. “Dinner should be ready when you return.”

“I look forward to it,” Koumyou said.

Once Koumyou had rounded the corner at the far end of the hall, Goudai relaxed and let the spasms take over, doubling over and gasping for air between wracking, heaving coughs. He could hear his attendants shuffling just outside the door, and gritted his teeth in annoyance. He had ordered them to leave him to his fits unless he summoned them, but apparently that didn’t keep them from hovering like a pack of clucking hens.

_Or carrion-birds,_ he thought grimly. The handkerchief he used to wipe his mouth after the spell had passed came away tinged with pink.

Koumyou returned as the acolytes were serving dinner, holding the lapels of his quilted jacket closed over his plain white robe. His cheeks were rosy, though whether from the bath or the evening chill Goudai couldn’t tell.

“Feels like winter,” Koumyou said with an emphatic shiver. “Ooh, is that pork hot pot I smell?”

Goudai rolled his eyes and thumped Koumyou over the head with a wooden ladle. “Degenerate. As if I’d allow meat to be served within these temple walls,” he said. “Now eat it and don’t complain.”

Koumyou clapped his hands together and dug in with gusto. Goudai managed to finish a small bowl of tofu and vegetable stew and half his bowl of rice before his appetite deserted him. Koumyou eyed his unfinished portion, but made no comment. Once the meal was finished and the dishes cleared, one of Goudai’s top students entered the room with the tea tray. Bunkei was almost as tall as Goudai, with a shaved head and small, neatly trimmed beard, and far more poise than the youngster that had served them in the afternoon. Goudai tasted the tea and nodded approvingly, and the monk bowed and backed out of the room without a word.

“Ah, more tea.” Koumyou ran the tip of one finger around the rim of the cup. “Such an austere drink with which to watch the glorious autumn sunset.”

Goudai smirked at Koumyou. “Taste it,” he said.

Koumyou took a sip and his eyes widened. “Goudai, your monk appears to have spiked our evening tea,” he said, feigning shock. “Surely you don’t approve of such debauchery?”

“Shut up and drink,” Goudai said. “That’s rare and expensive alcohol, you know.”

Koumyou smacked his lips thoughtfully. “What is it?”

“Something called brandy -- a gift from a visiting Western priest.” Goudai took a long, satisfying draught. The drink warmed his chest and helped quell the spasms that threatened to overtake him once more.

“I’m honored that you chose to share it with me,” Koumyou said, clicking his cup against Goudai’s. His smile was as warming to Goudai as the brandy-laced tea.

Goudai moved to sit next to Koumyou, and they drank in silence for a while. Koumyou gazed at a patch of sky framed in the half-open doorway, colored rose and orange by the setting sun, while Goudai gazed at Koumyou, admiring the way the waning daylight set his pale hair aglow and gave a golden cast to his profile. He noted that Koumyou’s hair remained dry, and that more than a few strands had come loose from his ponytail.

“You didn’t wash your hair,” he said.

Koumyou shrugged. “Now that it’s so long, it’s difficult for me to wash it myself.”

“So that’s why you wanted me to join you,” Goudai teased. “You know, one of the temple pissants could’ve done that for you. They’d all jump at the chance to serve a Sanzo.” He pictured Bunkei – or worse, that black-haired snake Ken’yuu – rinsing suds from Koumyou’s hair, and had to stifle a surge of possessive ire.

Koumyou glanced sidelong at Goudai. “It’s not the sort of thing I want a stranger doing,” he said in a tone that verged on petulance. His expression in that moment was much less Koumyou Sanzo and much more the face of a young, demerit-prone monk who took every opportunity to sneak into his fellow candidate Toudai’s bedroll, claiming it was to provide Toudai with added protection from the mountain temple’s punishing frigid climate. The memory made Goudai smile.

Goudai set his cup down and reached over to tug Koumyou’s ponytail. “This needs some tidying,” he said, raking his fingers through the tail’s end.

Koumyou shook his head in an effort to free his hair from Goudai’s grasp. “There’s a comb in my pack,” he said. Goudai put a hand on Koumyou’s shoulder to keep him in place.

“Wait,” he said. He walked over to a plain wood chest at the foot of his bed and extracted an ebony-handled paddle brush. Koumyou raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Did that belong to an old girlfriend?” he asked.

“Funny. Turn around and hold still.” Goudai kneeled behind Koumyou and unfastened the cord holding his hair back. He worked in sections, pulling the brush in long strokes from scalp to ends and running his hand over each finished piece. The few knots he encountered were easily dispatched, though Koumyou yelped as Goudai fought the brush through an especially matted patch.

“So rough,” he protested. “Keep pulling like that and I’ll be bald as you.”

“Stop whining – I’m almost done.” Goudai smoothed out the last of the knots and let the strands flow through his hands like loose silk. He wondered what it would be like to shed his robe and press his chest to that waterfall of hair, to bury his hands in it and pull as Koumyou writhed beneath him. He took a handful of hair and brought it to his lips. Koumyou leaned back against him with a sigh, and Goudai’s traitorous lungs chose that moment to rebel. He pushed Koumyou away and curled onto his side in an effort to contain the bone-rattling, eye-watering hacking. As the attack subsided, Goudai realized that Koumyou had wrapped his arms around him and was murmuring a soothing, wordless mantra in his ear. He tried to pull away, but Koumyou tightened his hold.

“Keep breathing,” he said. “The storm has not quite passed.”

Goudai clenched his jaw, hating how weak and frail he had become, and how humiliated it made him feel. Death wasn’t something he ever thought he would fear, until it had slipped up behind him and sucked away his strength until he was left without pride or dignity. He felt a few tears slip from his eyes and cursed under his breath. Koumyou released him, and they sat up together.

“So.” Goudai’s voice was jagged. “This is why I summoned you.”

“I know.” The profound sadness in Koumyou’s voice made Goudai’s heart ache. He glared at Koumyou.

“I don’t need your pity,” he snapped.

Koumyou blinked. “Okay. Tell me what you do need,” he said.

Goudai took a rasping, shuddering breath. “A witness, when the time comes,” he said.

“Of course.” Koumyou slid his hand along the floor until his fingertips touched Goudai’s. “Anything else?”

Goudai pushed his fingers against Koumyou’s. “Until then… I would not object to some added protection against the cold,” he said.

Koumyou took Goudai’s hand and smiled.


End file.
